


Salvage One

by PseudonymVirtue



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Adult Content, Angst, Canon Compliant, Drama, F/M, Family, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, One Shot Collection, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-11-01 15:24:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17869787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudonymVirtue/pseuds/PseudonymVirtue
Summary: A collection of Trunks/Mai oneshots. Part Three: His mom had made sure that he had proper etiquette in all things when it came to interacting with women.





	1. Man Overhead

Her boots clicked against the pavement, echoing throughout the chamber that was the makeshift warehouse behind Capsule Corp. It was once a hangar back in the corporation's peak days, before the Androids came and and people of earth breathed the dust from the rubble of the ruins they'd left behind.

 

Mai reached into her pocket, pulling the crumpled box of cigarettes with a lighter contained inside from it. She halted where the front of a truck had been backed into the warehouse. The bay was open and the dawn was just barely stretching over the horizon of fallen buildings before her.

 

It was early autumn, but late enough in the year that the chill bit her extra hard when she ungloved her hands, causing her to drop the lighter from the box as she fumbled with the garments. She uttered a curse, stooping down to swipe the lighter from the ground with a cigarette ready between her lips. After several good flicks and and a chapped hand to guard the flame from the outside breeze, the tip ignited with a triumphant glow in the middle of hopeful drag.

 

The efforts to rebuild were in full force. People were starting to get married again. A second marriage post-widowing for some. Have kids. Mai had completed twelve such runs in the last month alone, just for medical supplies to accommodate the births that were occurring all over the place. It was a strange time to be alive, in between the extinction of the human race and it's subsequent rebirth.

 

An aluminum door opened behind her and closed again. The truck beside her shifted under the weight of the man who hopped inside of it and paced the inside like he always did, giving the straps of the boxes of supplies a good hard tug. It wasn't that necessary in her opinion; she knew how to load a truck. But Trunks was a worry wart, and he often brought up his go to cautionary tale from years back of a supply truck whose contents shifts so drastically enroute while the driver turned a sharp curve, causing the whole thing to flip over over the side of a cliff.

 

She knew better. And he _knew_ that she knew better. But Trunks was stubborn and set on his rituals, so she decided that the issue was with him and not with her.

 

She took another drag, turning and squinting at him when she heard him hop down.

 

"Is everything to your liking, highness?"

 

He chuckled and looked downward shyly as he walked to her, pulling his hands into his coat pockets for warmth as he walked.

 

Mai offered him the cigarette like she usually did, and he waved a hand at her in refusal. She wasn't sure why the gesture gave her so much amusement- perhaps it was that he was so polite about it even though she knew he couldn't stand them.

 

"That a 'no?'" Mai smiled cheekily.

 

Trunks shook his head and wrinkled his nose. Mai flicked ash from the tip with the movement of her thumb.

 

"You know how much I hate those things." He frowned at her. "They stink."

 

Mai shrugged. "They're actually pretty great, it's just too bad you have that freakishly sensitive nose. Otherwise you could be enjoying them with me."

 

He shot her a look in the eye, with brilliant blue that suggested the clarity and calm of a careless summer sky, not the dreary grey landscape they surrounded them.

 

"They make _you s_ tink."

 

He knew how to dish it back. She liked that.

 

"I got these from your mom." Mai shrugged, her words muffled by the cigarette in her mouth again.

 

"Yeah, and she stinks too."

 

Mai laughed and Trunks smiled as her, arms crossed for a moment against the military grade wheels of the truck.

 

She couldn't deny she looked forward to her trips to Capsule corp. because of moments like this.

 

"You want to tell me why you're making this unplanned delivery? There's a lot of booze back there." Trunks' chin jerked in the direction of the truck against his back. some loose hairs from a ponytail fell free from where they were tucked behind his ears.

 

He looked good with long hair, she decided. With his angular jaw and cheekbones and those brilliant eyes he could've been quite the prettyboy in another life, dating debutants and socialites. Instead he woke every day at the crack of dawn to patrol ruins and greet grunts like her, who smoked and cussed and pissed in bushes alongside the road.

 

The end of the cigarette had burned close enough to the filter that the heat was beginning to sear her lips. Her eyebrows wrinkled as she pulled the stub away, dropping it to the ground to squash it with her boot.

 

Mai exhaled the last of the smoke the he hated and dug into her pockets for her gloves.

 

"The people want their booze. They ask, I deliver. And there's a lot of other things that we needed too." Mai said simply, but the raised eyebrow of her companion told her that wouldn't suffice as an explanation.

 

Trunks pulled open the driver's side door and help lift her inside when the time came. It wasn't necessary, but she allowed it anyway. It was kind of nice.

 

Midday, she saw a shadow of a man on the ground of the road before her, an image that would've been impossible unless that man were flying overhead. Mai frowned and laid on the horn, letting the man in the sky know that she knew he was there.


	2. 0413 A.M.

 

2230.

Before the chirping of his communicator sounded, the only noise was the steady drip of water from the faucet as an annoying telltale remainder of his after dinner cleanup efforts. It wasn't an especially satisfying meal, not like the ones he had with his friends in the past; where his younger, polished and excitable mother had everyone at the table in the courtyard with steak and lobster, wine and beer, and an entire dessert arrangement that made his stomach growl in reminiscence.

He'd recognized that spot in the courtyard, but it didn't look at all the same.

No, these military rations weren't cutting it at all. Prior to traveling to the past, he'd learned to live hungry because his appetite was bigger than most, and he'd accepted that he'd never be truly satiated until the world recovered to the point where the food supply could keep up with the demand.

Trunks lay on the bunk of the capsule home with his arms stretched behind his head when the communicator of his watch chirped it's jarring tones against his sensitive ears. He heaved himself upward, already aware of who the caller was before reading the name on the screen.

He flipped the screen upward to greet an older, tired mother, who greeted him with a smile nonetheless.

“Happy Birthday, kiddo.”

Trunks pushed back his hair, suddenly conscious of how disheveled he must've looked in the glowing artificial light and his mother's critical eye.

“Thanks, mom.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned into the screen. She was in the lab again, and she had been for some time, he judged by the telltale empty mug of coffee she had set on the shelf behind her.

“Why are you all alone in the dark? I thought I told you to stay in South City. At least you'd be surrounded by civilization.”

Trunks failed to suppress a yawn, rubbing his eyes with a knuckle. “I couldn't stay. I'm waiting for someone, remember?”

Her eyes softened with the kind of look she had when she was sad, or sentimental, or both.

“I _hate_ that you're by yourself on your birthday.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don't _feel_ like I'm by myself, when I have you to call me every year to remind me of the exact moment of my birth.”

She chuckled, her expression being one that he associated more with the other Bulma.

 

* * *

 

_Thud._

 

Trunks' eyes flickered open. The hazy darkness came into focus, broken only by the glowing red numbers of the digital clock.

0307.

He blinked, squinting at the glaring numerals.

 

_Thud-thud._

 

Trunks frowned. It'd been hardly a month since he eliminated the Androids, and Cell, and he'd since been making runs to the outposts for his mother, identifying and making contact with individuals that would be useful in the reconnaissance and reconstruction efforts.

 

_Thud-thud._

 

“Her name is Mai,” His mother had told him during their conversation earlier, “I, uh, have a complicated history with her,” and to Trunk's raised eyebrow she had added, “But that doesn't matter now, she's got connections with scouts and supplies from Pilaf's men.”

 

**_Thud._ **

 

The last sound was louder and more forceful, like the bottom of a boot hammering against the door instead of incessant knocks.

Someone was knocking.

His eyes were wide now, and he released a flustered, _“H-hold on!”_ as he fumbled in the dark for his shirt, hurriedly pulling it over his shoulders, not bothering to take notice that it was on backwards with a tag sticking out of the front.

“Hurry up!” It was a feminine voice, and when he finally swung the door to meet her, she was in the midst of the last syllable of her demand, and the forceful inflection in her voice dropped when her eyes met his.

She wasn't what he'd expected. She was young, no older than he was. The way his mother talked about her she seemed older, like a gritty combat veteran with a sketchy past.

He supposed that she looked hardened enough, but her eyes were soft. And it wasn't until she shifted the weight of the sniper rifle slung over her shoulder that he noticed the tattered sleeve of her jacket and he smelled the metallic blood that had been bled beneath it.

Trunks wrinkled his nose and stood to the side of the doorway, ushering her inside and closing the door securely behind her. “You're _wounded_.”

“Uh, yeah.” She stammered, grimacing to assist him in relieving her of the weight of her weapon as his lifted it over her head by the barrel.

“What happened?” Trunks questioned her, appalled by the fact that he'd slept idly in the reasonably comfortable confines of the house while she'd been outdoors traveling to his location, facing whatever it was that tore her arm up.

“Sorry for knocking like that,” She spoke with her teeth gritted in pain, ignoring his question entirely for the moment, “I um, didn't think I would actually be meeting you here.”

He halted his efforts to remove her coat momentarily. They stood in the dimness of the grey dawn's lights coming through the window blinds. They were strangers in the same space having two different conversations.

It was confusing, and incredibly awkward when they both came to that realization at the same time.

“You didn't think you would meet me here? Weren't you the one who reached out to my mom?”

Mai's dark eyes looked at him heavily. “Yeah, but I figured you'd send a representative or something. I didn't think _you'd_ come.”

She was overestimating his importance, living under the assumption that just because he was the Briefs son, and because he was the last of the earth's strongest, that he'd somehow find something more important that ensuring that the world could move on from devastation.

It made him smile a little, although he was still horrified after her condition.

“Of course I'd come.” Was the only earnest response that he could muster.

“There was an accident on the way,” Mai answered his former question, straying from the topic at hand again. “One of the old landmines got ignited and got my vehicle good. I had to get here on foot. If that hadn't happened I wouldn't have been so late.”

She punctuated the last sentence as if it were a natural way to end a story about being nearly blown up, as if in the event that she'd been on time for their meeting and he didn't have to break out the capsule house, the accident and her bleeding arm wouldn't have been a problem.

He tossed her jacket to the floor and flipped on the light to the kitchen, causing florescent overhead light to flicker and hum until it was all the way on. The house was one of the older models, and he was grateful for that because they still stocked things like first aid kits, while the later models had emphasized luxury much more than practicality.

“It's just glass, I think. From the windows. If anything was broken I don't think I would've made it.” Mai reassured him as he rummaged through the cupboards.

Finding the box of first aid supplies suspiciously under the sink where the dishwashing supplies should've been, Trunks tapped the counter twice with the palm of his hand, signaling for her to hop up onto it.

He pulled gauze and an antiseptic from the box, unable to stifle a snort of amusement when he noted the “antiseptic” was a green bottle of malt whiskey- apparently this house had been stocked by his grandfather.

If there was glass involved he'd need forceps. He pulled two cups from the cabinet and poured the whiskey in each, dropping the forceps in one and passing the other to Mai.

“For your trouble.” He said dryly, showing her his grim sense of humor.

She'd been lifting her shirt by her fingers under her collar to observe the damage underneath it, releasing it to accept the drink politely, watching him inquisitively.

“You must be second guessing this whole arrangement.” Mai told him heavily, looking down at the amber liquid contained in the glass in her hand. “I know you're interested in recruiting my men.”

Her dark almond eyes settled on him again as he positioned himself at her side. He would've liked to address her words, but he was in the midst of a dilemma as a trickle of blood rolled down her hairline.

Should he tell her to remove her shirt? That would've been the easiest way if she were a man, but she wasn't, so that would be weird. He instead gripped her collar at the seam that went down her arm, his eyes shyly meeting hers. “May I?”

She nodded and winced as he gingerly tore the seam of her sleeve, tearing free little blood clots that adhered the fabric to her skin, inviting more dark red trickled down her arm.

“You're lucky.” He told her, saturating a rag with the whiskey and wringing it down her arm and her upper back. “Everything looks relatively shallow.”

The contact of his grandfather's “antiseptic” with her red specked, glass shard-filled wounds was enough to elicit a sharp inhale through her teeth and she pressed the glass to her lips rather than making any further sound.

She was tough as nails, this girl.

He pulled the forceps from the second glass on the counter. He'd learned enough from his mother to know that this was hardly the proper way to handle her wounds but way out at their location it's have to do. It would've made her worse to carry her to the clinic back in South City.

He pulled the first several pieces from her side- the largest pieces, following with gentle pressure from the rag. He wanted to urge her to drink more, because superficial injuries could often be the most painful; but he noted that she was uncomfortable with this much exposure, as she was securing what remained of her shirt to her front as best she could with the hand that secured the cup.

They had a lot to discuss, but the digital clock now read 0330, so whatever it was could wait until a later after. His mind wandered to make a mental note to clear his stuff out of the bunk so that Mai could sleep there.

“How long were you waiting?” Mai broke the silence at last.

Trunks collected another shard, muttering a curse under his breath and patting her skin apologetically when he accidentally pinched her flesh in the process.

“I'm not sure,” He answered her, feeling his features tense with concentration. “I waited for an hour or so at the rendezvous point, and then I got hungry, ate, and fell asleep until my mom called.”

He felt his cheeks redden, embarrassed at the last part of that sentence.

“Your... mom called?” Mai questioned him, mild curiosity in her voice.

Did she find it strange? _Was_ it strange? The years and the circumstances had made his relationship with his mother closer than most, he knew that, although their closeness was primarily due to the fact that she was the center of everything he considered important left on the earth, and she was his last family member left alive after Gohan died.

He remembered the faces of all those people that he'd left behind in the past. Was it futile, changing a single timeline so that his family survived? He hoped not.

“Yeah, well, only because it was my birthday.”

Her eyes widened, “It was your _birthday_?”

He cursed himself again: _'Nice going, Trunks. Make it all about you.'_

The glass shards were collecting in a neat little pile, pebble like glass tinged with sticky red drops.

“Yeah. It's...” Trunks looked her in the eye again, bothered by how guilty she looked. “It's not a big deal. At all.” He ran more whiskey from the rag down her side again. It was almost clear of debris, save for a trickle of blood here and there.

She spoke through clenched teeth, telling him of the unpleasant burn she was undoubtedly experiencing. “Well if I'd have known that, _I_ would've supplied _you_ with the liquor.”

He laughed, unsure of whether she actually had the sort of sense of humor that made her say such things, or if she was simply sensitive to the contents of the cup in her hand.

“Happy Birthday. I'm sorry... that you're here.” She spoke again in evenly measured syllables.

Trunks plucked the few shards that peppered her arm, standing back to admire his handiwork. He'd turned the entire exposed part of her body into a strange sort of scavenger hunt, seeking after a piece here and piece there.

“I've been in worse places for it.” He looked at her under the fluorescent kitchen light. She was clutching what remained of her shirt to her chest.

Mai shuddered, as if fending off some distant memory. He understood; he had a few things that sifted through his mind every now and then that made him physically recoil as well.

“We all have.” She reminded him gently.

He stood for a moment, tweezers in hand still, though he no longer needed them. Her posture was slouched forward on the counter, emphasizing a long neck under a curtain of mangled dark hair and her boots that dangled above the floor.

Common sense told him that she should bathe in hot water now to draw more glass fragments to the surface. She needed a new shirt. He needed the clear his stuff out of the bunk so that she could rest- but he spent an extra moment to look at her like that, because he'd never met anyone like her before.

0413, and her eyes bore into him this way, sunken from grief and fatigue given away by the darkened circles under them. It only occurred to him then that she'd recognized him instantly- had they met before? He wiped his hands with the dish towel, assisting her off the counter as he pulled the cup from her hand, and led her to the bathroom where he dropped his spare shirt over the ledge of the sink.

He heard the distinct creak of the old knobs squeaking as she adjusted the water temperature. Water hissed from the shower head. The glass door slid in it's tract. A small sigh of contentment escaping her lips. Trunks was in the kitchen but he could hear it all. Leaning a palm against the ledge of the counter, he poured the contents of Mai's cup into his mouth. It was anything but sweet.


	3. The Beginning and The End

He buried his face where her neck met her shoulder, his breath heavy and humid against her flesh. His body was tense, yet loose enough to feel as if he were melting into her.

_“Trunks._ ” Mai whispered, shifting under him and further fanning her black hair over the pillow. She didn't _need_ to whisper, because there was hardly anyone around who would hear them, if they hadn't heard them already.

He felt her fingers slide up his bare back and through through the edges of his scalp past his neck, gently combing the roots of his hair with her fingernails.

He felt like he died; she'd killed him, he decided. And it wasn't a bad way to go, after a day being spent in one another's company like a couple while basking in the celebration that was arguably the most prominent wedding in history since the Androids came.

His mother couldn't attend of course, which was a shame because he felt like this was more her sort of thing before the world went to hell, and being there under the globe lights of the evening reception in a nice dress that she hadn't worn in a while would've been just what she needed to feel like herself again.

Maybe for one evening, someday, she wouldn't have to feel like the world went to hell under her watch.

 

* * *

 

Mai was almost unrecognizable in a sleeveless powder blue dress, and when he saw her standing outside the reception area with a cigarette in hand and her dark eyes cast thoughtfully at the night sky while shifting her weight around in black heels awkwardly, he couldn't put off saying something any longer.

The two had shared a kiss one time, months earlier on his mother's estate when Mai had joined them for dinner one evening, and like a bad omen or a plague they avoided bringing it up since.

 

* * *

 

His breath leveled under her soothing touch, and with every inhale in his lungs he felt as if he were rising off of her body, lowered back down again only by an exhale. Mai always smelled of faint gunpowder and cigarettes, but underneath that her skin was sweet and soft under his touch, so much so that he wanted to take it all in under his lips and fingertips, so that he could make her a part of him, or he a part of her, and inhale her scent forever.

_“Trunks.”_

Ah. It was so good to hear her say his name, and he wanted to say hers, since she was still wrapped in his arms completely and his mouth was so close to her ear that it shouldn't have been so hard, but coming down from the thrill of immense pleasure made him lazy and sloppy, and he resorted to pressing his lips to her shoulder instead.

He'd hadn't realized how soft and small she really was.

He tightened his hold on her, flinching as she trailed her other hand up his back, dragging it to his shoulder blade and leaving a trail of goosebumps in it's wake.

“Trunks.” Mai repeated slightly firmer than her previous tone, tapping him lightly to get his attention.

“Mm?”

“You're crushing me.” She laughed. The sound was therapeutic.

“ _Oh._ Sorry.” He disentangled himself from her and rolled to the side as she took care to keep her hands on him, as if to assure him she still desired contact.

* * *

 

Mai had a certain look about her when she registered pleasant familiarity. Her eyes were warm when she smiled, showing little wrinkles in the outer corners of her eyes that made him happy to see, and to know that he was one of the people who made her expression light up this way.

So when he walked over to her at the reception, feeling sheepish from all their distant and odd interactions over the past several months, it felt good to have her look at him that way, even if she was exhaling smoke from a cigarette.

“I'm glad you came,” She told him earnestly, “I wasn't sure you would make it.”

Trunks tilted his head for a second, sliding his hands in his pockets and shaking his head at her usual gesture of silently inquiring if he wanted a drag- something she always did even though he'd never taken her up on it.

“Yeah, me too.” He nodded to the twinkling lights draped around them as the music behind them picked up and upbeat rhythm. “It's nice to do something normal for a change, right?”

Mai smiled. “Guess so.”

 

* * *

 

“It's okay.” Mai reassured him, tilting her head into his hand when he reached for her face across the pillow from him to run his thumb along her jawline. He watched her eyes drift to the side in recollection until they snapped back on him as she was pulled back into the moment.

“So, that was nice.” She said simply, a telltale smile hovering over his thumb.

“Mhm.” He shifted so that he was closer again, because if he couldn't keep her pressed underneath him, then he wanted at least some sort of physical contact where her body was memorized by his for as long as possible.

Her eyes moved again. “Have you done that with anyone before?” She blurted, spilling the words out quickly like she were tearing off a bandaid.

Trunks shook his head, feeling heat in his cheeks. “No, why?”

He'd have been lying if he told her he'd never thought about it, but during his adolescence he'd never had a moment to truly have the _intention_ of sleeping with anyone. And even if he had, what would it matter if he was here with her the way he was now?

“Oh.” She bit her lip, looking back at him now. “It just... you seemed like you knew what you were doing.”

A self conscious chuckle erupted from him, easing the tension and making her do the same. The lay like that for a moment, filling the silence with muted laughter, until he felt compelled to pull her even closer and kiss her again- with sincerity and simplicity.

 

* * *

 

The music fell into a mellow beat as Mai dropped the butt to the ground as a single glowing ember, smothering it with the toe of her shoe.

Trunks was feeling anxious, standing there and catching up with her, perhaps because he wasn't accustomed to these events or to seeing Mai dressed up this way.

So he did the only thing that made sense, taking her by the wrist and pulling her with him to the dance floor, a gesture she initially met with outrage, then bewilderment, followed by acceptance and surrender.

His mom had made sure that he had proper etiquette in all things when it came to interacting with women, a concept he'd often roll his eyes at her for when she'd coach him there in the living room, pretending to be his partner as she placed one of his hands on her waist and the other wrapped in her hand, to show him how to dance with _“the right girl, should you ever find her.”_

He'd never tell his mother about this, he decided, because her guidance took away some of the guesswork and awkwardness of what was already a rather uncertain situation in the present as he led Mai by the hand amidst other couples and rested the opposite one on her waist, spinning her every now and then to make her smile, until it unexpectedly felt right to rest his forehead against hers.

He wanted something nice like this for he and Mai, he decided. A wedding. An event where people would come together and have a reason to dance and be happy, and his mother would feel like her old self again, or at least a skeleton of it.

 

* * *

 

“Trunks.” Mai whispered his name for the first time that night. It might've been the buzz from the champagne, but he kissed her passionately against the wall of his quarters at the venue as she swayed slightly in giddiness, clutching both of her shoes that she had removed in one hand.

He parted from her, looking as her inquisitively and she stood with the shoes in her hand, visibly making a decisive call on where the evening would go when she dropped the shoes to the floor and grabbed him firmly by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him against her again.

 

* * *

 

Trunks' communicator buzzed. He ignored it, because Mai was squirming under his touch along her ribs and a familiar heat was building within him.

It stopped, and started again.

His brow furrowed, irritated.

_Who was calling him so late?_

Mai broke their kiss, turning her head away from him and toward the pile at the side of the bed where he'd tossed his clothes in a single mound, with his slacks and belt on the top and jacket with a button up shirt on the bottom.

“I think you should get that.” Mai spoke breathlessly, “It must be important if it's this late.”

Trunk wanted to protest, to conjure an excuse to deny it, but Mai was right. He grunted and carefully moved over her to exit the bed, feeling a little bashful about the way her eyes were raking over his body from behind him.

He read his mother's number on the screen and pushed his hair back from his eyes, feeling his jaw clench in tension. It wasn't like her to call so late like this.

Mai rolled over on the bed for that she was facing him, propping her upper body up by her elbow and bringing a sheet to her chest. His expression had made her uneasy.

“Who is it?”

Trunks hit the answer button and watched as his mother's face, tired and gaunt-looking come upon the screen.

“Mom? What's wrong?”

“Trunks!” Bulma exclaimed, visibly relieved at the sight of him. “You're alright? Is everyone alright out there?”

He blinked at her, unsure of what to say. Mai remained silent from her position, her eyes falling dark in familiarity at the tone of his mother's voice.

“Yeah, what do you mean _'are we alright?'_ Something happen?”

His own words filled him with dread.

“Trunks.” Bulma spoke wearily, “You need to come back here. There's been some... attacks.”

His blood ran cold. “What do you mean? You need to be more specific.” And with his teether clenched he added, “Is it the Androids? Are they back?”

His mother shook her head. “I-I don't think so. It's something else. I don't know what else to say right now, because for all I know our comms could be compromised.”

He sank down against the wall on bent knees, pushing his head behind his head again and rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Trunks.” Bulma spoke firmly, commanding her son to retain his attention on her words. “I need to you warn the others, tell them that if there's no underground shelter then they need to head for housing with lots of cover, like the old days. Immediately. Tell them to wait for further instruction. And I need you to come back here, it's not secure to talk at a distance like this.”

She hung up, and his eyes trailing to the bed where Mai had already risen, pushing her hands over her temples and taking a slow breath.

“I'll warn the others,” Mai told him decidedly, stumbling around the bed to retrieve her underwear and slid the garments on. “You should get going. It sounds pretty serious.”

Trunks shook his head incredulously as he stood, unaware of his state of nudity until she walked to him with her dress, not zipped up, hung loosely about her shoulders from the back, picked up his pile of clothing and flung it at him.

“Get going?” Trunks balked irritably.

Mai reached behind herself and pulled the zipper up with several clumsy pulls.

He obeyed her reluctantly, though defiantly announcing, “I'm not leaving you here.”

Mai shook her head at him, fiery and incredulous. “You have to. Who knows how much time we have?!”

Trunks fasted his belt and grabbed her roughly by the shoulder as she bolted for the door with her shoes in her hand.

“I'm not leaving you here. You're coming with me.” He told her again, his voice cracking from the strain of emotion and with the angry look in her eye at his aggressive contact she looked ready to hit him.

“We don't have a choice.” Mai told him firmly, “I'll meet you at Capsule Corp.”

_No, no, no_. He'd seen numerous corpses in his life, some strange, some familiar. He wouldn't see her become a victim like that. He swallowed, momentarily mourning the glimpse of a future he had with her.

“I'll go with you.” He attempted again, fully knowing her plan made more sense.

Mai shook her head. “I have some weapons in my room. And my vehicle. I'll be safe. And I'll see you at Capsule Corp.”

Her vocal inflection at the last sentence told him that her decision was final, and he only buttoned his shirt halfway before he watched her run barefoot into the night from him, banging along every door and sounding every alarm along the way.

 

* * *

 

Bulma sighed for a moment, leaning backward in her desk chair and sitting still in the darkness of an early morning. If Trunks was safe, she expected him to be sleepy, groggy, pulled from the throes of sleep by her call.

But he wasn't any of those things. And she was no idiot, and she hadn't exactly become a mother by not keeping company at late hours such as this.

He was with Mai.

Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them back furiously and she pieced the puzzle in her head the way she had for a million things, gadgets and social situations alike. She knew he was ga-ga for that girl, and the thought of him finding companionship with her, the way she had briefly with Vegeta all those years ago, well...

It would be so comforting. And after everything, he was her son and he deserved it. But now, thanks to this new asshole, whatever he was, it would all be taken from them.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust and frustration, and pulled a cigarette from the box in her top desk drawer, lighting it until it glowed red in the dark with her breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goku Black and his timing, amiright?? I recently rewatched the arc in Super and it made me think of how cruel it'd be to experience some sense of normalcy only to have it all go to chaos again (not to mention thinking Mai is dead for a while). These one shots are in no particular order, so anything posted after this will take place before and after this point chronologically, because I need to balance out the darker stuff with lightheartedness and fluff. Thanks for reading!


End file.
